Loved and Lost
by Bohem
Summary: **CHAPTER 2 ADDED** Christian lives through the pain of living without Satine, but can he get the strength to write his story for her?
1. Tragic Moment

Title: Loved and Lost  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with Moulin Rouge but this story, and the DVD.  
  
Category: Angst  
  
Summery: Death effects people in many ways. How does it effect a person so totally in love? Christian's feelings in the aftermath.  
  
A/N: I guess I'm writing this because I wanted to know what happened on that not-so-very-special day that Christian sat down at his typewritter. What made that day different than the others? What does Christian have to go through to get to that point where he can actually write the story?  
  
Here chronicles the events of Christian's life after Satine, as I feel it happened. I think I have a pretty good grasp on Christian's character. This chapter sort of ties up what happens to Harold Zidler and The Duke. Later chapters revolve more around Christian.  
  
  
  
Chapter 1:  
  
He just rocked back and forth. Rocked back and forth as you would rock a child to sleep. He cradled a precious treasure in his arms. As he did so, he let forth a wail. A wail so raw and full of despair it seemed as though the cheers behind the curtain faltered for a second. But the young man just continued to rock. He took no notice of the people surrounding him. Most of them were crying as well. A little man, with short ebony hair and beard edged uncomfortably toward his shaking friend.  
  
"Chwistian?" The dwarf's voice too sounded thick with sorrow. The young man did not answer. The dwarf tried again. "Chwistian?" He touched his friend lightly on his shoulder. Christian jerked back into reality for a moment.  
  
"No! Leave us Toulouse! Let us be! She needs to be alone!" Toulouse backed away. Christian's eyes were blazing with a fire that could not be extinguished by the tears that accompanied it. His eyes told a tale of so much emotion and heartbreak that Toulouse grew scared. Again Christian bent over his treasure and began to sway back and forth; his eyes shut once more. Toulouse walked wordlessly off the stage. He knew how it felt to lose someone. As he went, another scream from Christian followed him into the darkened streets of Montmartre.  
  
.And still the young Christian swayed.  
  
~?~  
  
Harold Zidler was a powerful man. His presence filled a room with authority. He was always considered a leader. He seemed lost now though. Christian continued to sway in a slow and steady rhythm. He didn't know what to do. He watched the man hunch forward and retch, his head turned away from the auburn hair and ashen skin of Satine. He took an uncertain step forward and knelt beside Christian. The young man stopped heaving. Christian lifted his head slowly and squinted through tear-filled eyes at Zidler. To Zidler, Christian's eyes shone with cold fury and uncontrollable grief. Zidler too was momentarily taken aback by his eyes, but he touched Christian's hand.  
  
"Let go Christian. She's gone, let her go." He tried to gently pry the limp Satine from the strong grasp of Christian, but the young man just held on tighter.  
  
"No." That was all he said. He curled his arms farther around Satine and fell forward. He lay crumpled over her, still sobbing.  
  
Zidler sighed. He would leave the young man for a moment. He walked resolutely toward the curtain. He found the opening between them and pushed his way through. The stage lights momentarily blinded him.  
  
The audience had stopped cheering at this point. Most of them were looking at each other in a confused sort of way. But when Zidler appeared they again broke out into an overwhelming applause. Zidler raised his arms for silence, as he had done so many times during the parties when The Rouge was still a nightclub. The audience did eventually settle down.  
  
Zidler wasn't sure what to say, but he had to say something. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he began. "Tonight you have witnessed the first and final performance of 'Spectacular, Spectacular'." The audience murmured to themselves, and Zidler again called for quiet. "There will be no curtain call toni-." But Zidler was cut off. Again the sound of Christian's scream filled the theatre, and this time the audience could hear it. Many of them stood up, the women put delicate hands to their faces. This scream was different. It was filled with pain, as well as sorrow. The people in the audience suddenly knew something was wrong. Men gathered up their wives, and the audience worriedly made their way toward the exit. That scream told them that their cheers of congratulations, and cheers of delight were not needed here.  
  
Zidler watched them go, and hurriedly returned backstage. An older man was standing over Satine, shaking his head. It was the doctor that the Stage Manager had gone to fetch. Christian was doubled over on the ground. He had been separated from Satine, and had vomited about 10 feet from her vulnerable body. The Argentinean was holding Christian's shoulders, preventing him from rising and returning to Satine. Christian finished gagging. He tried to put up a fight, but the Argentinean was too strong. Christian flailed his arms helplessly for a few moments before lying still in a dead faint, grief finally overcoming him.  
  
~?~  
  
The wind outside whipped around the stooping man as he walked through the dim streets of Montmartre. A light snow was falling about him, and he pulled his tailcoat farther around his body. He felt empty. He had lost her. Right in front of his eyes, she had dared to deceive him. Him. Edward, the Duke of Monroth. Once that title commanded respect, now it seemed as though a person could toss aside his name just as easily as they could toss him aside. Why he had dared to love her, he did not know. No woman in his life had ever loved him. But he had loved her. He had loved her more than all of his fortune, and all of his fame. He would have done anything for her, but she couldn't see that love. She could only see that ridiculous writer, and his way with words. He felt anger towards Christian. Jealousy even. What did that boy have that he didn't?  
  
The Duke stuck his freezing hands in his pockets and continued down the narrow street. He didn't look up again until he almost ran into another man walking down the same path as him. "Sorry," the Duke said in an offhand voice, and looked at whom he had bumped into. He voice caught when he saw that it was that imbecilic dwarf.  
  
Toulouse glared at the man in front of him. "You! What awe you doing hewe?"  
  
"What does it matter to you? Why don't you go back to your friends? Go see if Satine will betray you as well." The Duke spit out the words with fury.  
  
Toulouse stared at him. "She didn't wove you. She couldn't betway someone she never woved."  
  
"I can still make her love me. I can make her do anything. If giving her everything she ever wanted couldn't do it, I'll take away everything she ever had."  
  
Toulouse shook with suppressed rage. "She won't do anything fow you anymowe, Duke. Let hew wie in peace." Toulouse continued on his way, his head bent over in silent mourning. He reached a corner and turned down it, and disappeared into shadow, leaving the Duke to stand with his own thoughts.  
  
The Duke stared after the dwarf for a moment then turned around and headed back the way he had come, the red wings of the mill again in his sight.  
  
~?~  
  
Zidler crouched over Satine. Her eyes were half closed; the ornate Hindi Headdress was still entwined in her hair. "My little Sparrow," he whispered. He carefully undid the headdress from her locks, and brought his hand over her sapphire eyes, closing them. She looked peaceful in a way. She no longer needed to worry about life's troubles, and she had died an actress, like she had always wanted. She had died happy. It wasn't Satine's death that troubled him though. He had known that she was dying. He had known it for weeks. No, he worried more about the man lying unconscious several feet from her body. He didn't think that Christian would die happy or fulfilled.  
  
But at the back of his mind another nagging worry surfaced. What would happen to his beloved Moulin Rouge? The Duke still held the Deeds. What would happen now that Satine couldn't be there for the Duke, or to act in his plays?  
  
As though on cue the Duke appeared on stage. He strode purposefully out of the shadows towards Zidler. "She's dead then." It wasn't a question.  
  
Zidler looked at the Duke. He feared the power emanating from the man standing in front of him. He didn't know what to say to him. He could only nod.  
  
The Duke glanced at Satine's body. She no longer looked beautiful to him. She was a frail witch. Some unseen force had spoiled her. The Duke couldn't understand what Satine had felt in her last moments, her feeling of completeness. He could only see that he himself was the one that had been left to wither. He wanted to blame someone for that. He wanted to blame someone for what he felt. He turned on his heels, as though looking for somebody to take out his feelings on. He caught sight of Christian, still lying on the floor. Christian had just come around, but lay unmoving and silent.  
  
"You! It was you!" The Duke screamed. He ran over to Christian's helpless form and kicked him, hard. Christian couldn't feel the kick. He couldn't feel anything. He looked up, his eyes cloudy, his face still wet with tears. The Duke only saw arrogance staring back at him. The Duke had been hoping for a reaction from Christian, but he didn't get it. Christian remained on the floor. The Duke closed his eyes, fury over coming him. He slowly tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "I'm closing you down Zidler. The Moulin Rouge isn't yours anymore." He watched Christian continue to stare at him. Christian could not hear a word that was spoken, or any of Zidler's protests, for the world was screaming at him. But he lost consciousness again as the Duke gave him a final kick in the stomach before leaving the theatre for the final time.  
  
/end chapter one  
  
A/N: There you have it. The day of Satine's death. I don't hate the Duke as much as most people, but we all know he closes the Rouge. I'm putting up another chapter soon. Chapter two is in a state of editing, and should be up shortly. I'll leave you with a quote from it:  
  
When he finally stopped running, he looked up to get his bearings. He found that he was only a couple blocks from the darkened Moulin Rouge, whose wings were motionless. He also saw that he was standing in front of a small, local tavern: Le Bar Absinthe. It seemed as though fate had shown him a way to escape.  
  
-Bohem Revolu 


	2. Escaping the Pain

_Title:  Loved and Lost_

_Category: Angst_

_Summary: Christian lives through the pain of living without Satine, but can he get the strength to write his story for her?_

_A/N: While writing this story I am trying to have Christian go through the steps of grieving.  Those steps are: _

_1. Denial_

_2. Anger_

_3. Bargaining_

_4. Depression_

_5. Loneliness_

_6. Acceptance_

_7. Hope_

_He is currently at Denial._

Chapter 2:

~☆~

1 week later:

            Toulouse watched as Christian ambled back towards his garret.  He walked alone, ahead of the rest of the group, his shoulders hunched forward.  The chill winds of early December made Christian's coat billow slightly.  The going was slow and there was a feeling of heaviness about the group of Bohemians.  Most of them felt a sense of closure.  They had just returned from Satine's wake.  The funeral had been small and simple.  Satine's figure had been clothed in her simple cream suit.  Her auburn hair had fallen loose about her shoulders.  

            Christian had held himself well.  He hadn't spoken since her death, but as he had walked towards her casket he sang _Come What May_ quietly to her.  Everyone around him had noticed a slight change in the wording of the song.  As Christian had sung it; he neglected to finish the chorus with the usual '_until my dying day._'  Everyone had known why.

            Now, as the group walked back towards their building, Toulouse attempted to talk to him. "Chwistian," he called.  Christian turned slowly toward Toulouse, but did not speak. "She died happy, you know."  Christian looked down at his friend, and again turned his back to him.  Christian continued walking.

            The group watched him as he walked through the front door of their dwelling. "You can't stay wike this foweve', Chwistian," mumbled Toulouse as he started towards the building again.

~☆~

            Inside his garret Christian sat on his bed. His coat lay shed on the floor.  He stared around the small apartment, and a lone tear crept down his cheek.  He felt drained, emotionally and physically.   He felt desolate, separated from the rest of the world.  All that was left of his youthful dreams of truth, beauty, freedom and love lay scattered about the room as pieces of paper.   He just stared.  He didn't move or speak.  An expression of shock crossed his face.  The funeral had been painful, his heart ripped to shreds upon seeing Satine in her coffin. So delicate, so frail, so beautiful.  But still, he couldn't believe it.  His heart still wanted to believe that she was alive.  He could still feel her tepid, silky skin against his. His mind knew she was gone, but every other part of him screamed that she wasn't.  And Christian lived by his heart, not his head.  

His bleary eyes came across a small bundle across the room.  It glinted red in the light of the tiny lamp.  It was Satine's red dress. Most of Satine's belongings had been sold when the Duke had shut the place down 4 days ago, but Christian had begged Harold to give it to him.  It was what she had been wearing when they spent their first night together, and it was the outfit he felt closest to.  He picked it up, and brought it to his bed. He closed it to his chest.  There was still a faint smell of Satine's perfume upon it.  Christian's breath caught, and he threw the dress down.

He began to sway again, his knees pulled up to his chest.  He hugged his body.   He wanted to put his arms around something; he wanted to embrace Satine again.  

            Christian remained like that for several hours.  When he finally jerked into reality, he found that the real world was just as painful as the imaginary one he had just left.  His mind was full of nothing but Satine.  He saw her eyes staring back at him when he closed his own.  He could hear her singing in his ear. It was torment.  He had to find some way to escape.  Life was too painful.  He searched around his apartment, as if hoping to find some means to end his life, but found nothing.  Feeling lost and hopeless he ran out into the street, snow filling his shoes and the wind whipping his dark hair.  The night surrounded him.  He staggered through the snow that was building up.  He was without his jacket, which was still on the floor in his room, but  he welcomed the cold.  A few passers by stared at his as he ran through the street.  He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care.  

            When he finally stopped running, he looked up to get his bearings.  He found that he was only a couple blocks from the darkened Moulin Rouge, whose wings were motionless.  He also saw that he was standing in front of a small, local tavern: _Le_ _Bar Absinthe.  _It seemed as though fate had shown him a way to escape.

            Without a second thought he walked into the bar.  A few of the patrons nodded in his direction as he entered.  He hesitated for a moment, and went up to the bartender. "Absinthe," he commanded.  

            "That's all we sell here, Laddie," said the bartender, and he handed Christian a glass full of the emerald liqueur.  He drank it down in one gulp.   The fiery liquid burned his throat, but the stinging lasted only a moment. His vision blurred as he felt the alcohol begin to take effect.  In the back of his mind he heard her.  Not Satine this time, but a welcomed guest.  The fairy had come to visit him.  He saw her dance across his mind, taunting him, and whispering to him.

            "I believe you were expecting me," the fairy mocked in his ear.  And, in the same manner his last love affair had begun, Christian delved into another one, just as strong, but much more deadly.

/chapter 2 

A/N: Whoa!  Crazy metaphorical things going down in the land of Montmartre.  Let's hope Christian learns to deal with himself before he does something really stupid.  Chapter 3 is being written as we speak, and will be up shortly.  As always, I'll leave you with a quote:

Across town, the sun's rays made their way into a small apartment.  A golden beam glinted off an empty bottle, casting an iridescent reflection onto the wall opposite.  A soft hiss was heard.


End file.
